


Force Fed

by Lazarus76



Series: Force Fed [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Beck is fattened up but its not consensual, Eating Disorders, M/M, medical force feeding, you can feel sympathy for beck if you want to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 04:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarus76/pseuds/Lazarus76
Summary: Sequel to Skin Tight. Beck is incarcerated at SHIELD's pleasure...and still thinks he's the smartest guy in the room. But when you're essentially starving, your mind does funny things...





	Force Fed

“Mr Beck, would you sit down please?”

Beck swallowed as he continued to stand. He was acutely aware of the IV pole that he'd had to drag with him down the corridor. He glared at the bag, glinting in the late afternoon rays on sunshine. Pumping nutrients and calories into his system. He folded his arms. 

The agent was undaunted. He merely looked at him, and quirked an eyebrow. “Please sit. You're going to be there for a long time, otherwise.”

Beck sat, his breath exhaling in a long, deep growl. He ignored him, and continued casting hIS eye over electronic files, displayed on a tablet screen. He sat with his head down, intelocking his fingers. 

“Mr Beck, do you know why you're here?”

“Yes.” It came out as a sibilant hiss. 

“Do you know what procedures SHIELD are going to go through to ensure you're fit for trial?”

Beck shrugged. “Please, enlighten me. I get the impression Fury has a fetish for me to be tied to my bed.”

“The procedures,” He continued, ignoring his jibe “are focused on ensuring your bodyweight is returned to normal, and that you become less obsessed with food. It is hopeful that by undergoing treatment you will regain some mental clarity, become more prepared to discuss why you felt the need to try and engage in a deception that threatened human life and caused massive devastation.”

Beck looked at him. “Funny, the Avengers caused devastation and loss of life. In New York, Sokovia, and Lagos, and yet I don't remember reading about Thor or Iron Man or Captain America being kept in a facility for treatment.”

Everett Ross looked at him. “The Avengers were responding to actual threats. You were simply creating facades for your own glory.”

“And of course, they hated the attention,” Beck fired back. “That Tony Stark was a real shrinking violet, wasn't he?!” Beck leaned back in his chair, his fury beginning to uncoil. “And ,yeah, Steve Rogers really complained about that museum! And as for Black Widow...she used to wear lovely baggy outfits to hide behind, didn't she?!”

“Let's turn to your eating disorder, Mr Beck-”

“I don't have an eating disorder!” Beck burst out. “I just...” he shrugged. “Wanted to look a bit more cut, that's all.”

“Why was that, Mr Beck?” Ross was leaning forward, and his voice was softer, as though Beck were a recalcitrant child he had to encourage to co-operate. 

Beck sighed again. “Well, there's the whole factor of looking good.”

“Yes, I can imagine wearing skin tight lycra must be somewhat daunting.” He looked at him. “But do you not see how you allowed it to become an obsession? That its very likely that your refusal to eat properly, and your vomiting and purging, has caused your brain chemistry to become unbalanced? If you were eating properly, there's a likely chance that you would have been able to think more rationally.”

“Yeah, and again, the Avengers lived on junk food,” Beck countered. “But hang on, didn't Stark have something of a problem? I vividly remember nights in the lab, where he'd come in so drunk he could barely see what was being worked on. He was nothing but a petulant, spoiled, boozy man-child, flying around in that metal suit...and yet apparently I'm the menace to society.” Beck leaned back, almost sprawling on the chair. “You do know I'm the one who masterminded most of his tech, don't you? I think its a shame that someone clearly as intelligent as you cannot give credit to someone with a stupidly high IQ!”

“Tony Stark never deliberately set up elaborate illusions in order to trigger chaos and panic. Tony Stark never threatened to kill members of his own team!” He looked at him. “I'm not disputing you have a genius level intellect, Mr Beck, but the way you use it is highly questionable.” 

“What!” Quentin nearly jumped to his feet. 

“Its on record that you threatened to put bullets in the heads of your team if they failed to help you carry off your illusions in London” He looked at his notes, scrolling down. “In fact, the disregard you have for human life is unbelievable. The fact you told your team that the more casualties, the more coverage you would have in London is deeply concerning. The fact you stood and watched as Peter Parker was hit by a high speed train is deeply concerning. The fact you were prepared to send drones to shoot teenagers at point blank range is deeply concering. Its little wonder, Mr Beck, that Director Fury called you a narcissistic, psychopathic, bulimic headcase. Because its my opinion there is a lot of truth in it. And I'll tell you this – when you're on trial, a jury really only needs to look at those two pretty girls you tried to kill, and there'd be no doubt. You'll be going away for life.”

Beck looked at her, frozen. His mouth opened but no sound came out. He picked up his tablet, and closed it down. 

“I'm going to hand in my psychometric assessment of you to Nick Fury.” He stood up. “I'd really start co-operating with us, Mr Beck. You're going to be here for some time.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A narcissistic, psychopathic, bulimic headcase.

Beck swallowed, the damning assessment ringing in his ears. He'd been escorted back to his room – cell, he mentally chanted to himself – by a grim faced agent, after undergoing a torturous hour's physical health assessment by someone who clearly couldn't get over that Fury's two-bit organisation had managed to ensnare him. 

He'd been weighed, measured, pushed, and prodded. He'd glared when a small white stick had come towards his chest, and to his fury, had poked him in the ribs. He'd listened as his bodyweight was recited to him - “149 lbs” - and then tried not to look as a syringe, dripping with viscous slime, had somehow entered his body. 

“You must be feeling a certain amount of discomfort, Mr Beck,” the doctor had said, as she'd run an appraising eye over him. “Your bodyweight is far too low for your height, and your build, and your blood sugar and potassium levels are through the floor. Have you experienced heart trouble?”

Beck swallowed. His mind flickered back to his spells of cardiac arrythmia that EDITH had chided him over. He blinked, thinking maybe he should have just eaten a banana, just to ward the prying AI off. But that would have meant ingesting calories, which would have meant an ever tighter suit, which would have meant no heroic glory...

….and the sound of Stark laughing at him from beyond the grave. 

Beck's jaw tightened. They could try him for what he'd done, but if they thought they were going to make him fat, doughy...ordinary...they could think again.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

“So, do you feel as though Stark mistreated you?”

Beck sighed. “He fired me, Agent Ross. After all the work I did for him. He claimed I was...unstable.”

Ross leaned back. “So you have a grudge against a now dead ex-employer, that enraged you to the point that you decided to put this elaborate scheme in place.” Ross' eyes narrowed. “You know, taking advantage of the chaos and confusion in the world caused by the Blip was a pretty loathsome thing to do. Very clever, but completely loathsome.”

“People wanted a hero. I was happy to oblige.” Beck shrugged. 

“Now, lets talk about your treatment.” Ross shuffled his notes. “You're still refusing to eat properly. Why?”

“There's nothing wrong with me. That's why.”

“Mr Beck, if you continue like this, you will die.” Ross looked at him. “Do you realise that?”

Beck shrugged. “If the alternative is spending the rest of my life in jail...I could handle it.”

“All because you wanted to look good in a tight outfit?” Ross shook his head. “Mr Beck, this is not going to end well for you. There's no mansion. There's no media deals. There's no supermodel waiting for you in bed. There's only ever going to be a feeding tube here, and a feeding tube there once you get past trial and are sentenced. Perhaps you should just co-operate, and make your life pleasanter.” 

Beck shrugged. “No.”

Ross leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Guess its time for you to go back to your room.”

Beck stood. “You know what your problem is, Ross? Your problem is that none of you can accept that I'm smarter than you. That I can make people believe what I want. And if I have to modify myself to do it...that's all right.” 

___________________________________________________________________________

Beck glared at the tray that had been brought to him in fury. He was still confined to bed, was escorted to the bathroom, and had to suffer whilst an eagle eyed guard waited outside. Any sign of vomiting, and he'd be tube fed. The thought made him shudder. He pulled at the loose cotton tunic he wore, and smoothed it over his flat stomach. 

He looked at the tray, then looked away. The thought of placing anything in his mouth left him feeling revolted. 

He leaned back, and closed his eyes. Veronica had come to his room in Prague, shortly after they'd returned after successfully taking EDITH from Parker. He'd been lying on the bed, in the suit, when she'd knocked on the door. To his surprise, she was holding a bottle of wine, and two glasses. 

He'd smiled at her. “Time for a nightcap?”

“Only if you want one.”

Her voice had been soft, beguiling. Beck had walked back to the bed, and sat on it. He gently patted the side next to him. “Come here.”

She'd walked towards him, and carefully put the bottle, and glasses, on the nightstand. Putting one hand on her hip, he'd guided her to sit across his thighs. She carefully ran her hands down his sides, leaning forward. He'd also leaned forward, burying his face in her neck, slowly beginning to kiss it. 

Suddenly, he'd felt her stiffen. “What is it?”

“Um, Quentin, I can feel your...” she paused. Suddenly, she'd got up, leaving him with his arms outstretched. “Listen, I just remembered, I have to speak to William about London.” She got up, hastily straightening her clothes. “Sorry.” Leaning forward, she kissed him on the cheek, and hurried out, leaving Beck slightly dumbfounded as she closed the door. 

Beck turned in his bed, and glowered. How dare she. How dare she reject him like that. The following day, at the rehearsals for London, she'd stood drinking wine, trying not to catch his eye. He'd ignored her. He'd soon have models competing for him, she could forget it. He stared at the white sheets. His team were such a bunch of ingrates. Fury was an ingrate. SHIELD were ingrates. He was trying to be a symbol, a hero, a force to unify the world...

….and all they could do was try and force feed him. Scowling at the tray, he closed his eyes. 

______________________________________________________________________________

“So, when you thought you were looking too heavy in your suit, you began to make yourself vomit?”

Beck nodded. “I guess so.”

“Did that not bother you?” Ross looked at him. “That you were so obsessed with it?”

“I don't re-call Steve Rogers ever looking flabby,” Beck replied, smoothly. “Why was no-one bothered about that? Stark used to drink himself senseless. Why did that never bother you?"

“I don't think Steve Rogers ever made himself purge,” Ross countered. “You seem to think that Stark's alcoholism was something no-one noticed. You seem to think that because you think Stark got away with it, in your mind, you're justified doing this.”

“Well, Stark is seen as a hero.” Beck folded his arms. “But he was a drunk liar who stole my work, and slandered me. I'm just trying to make the world seem safer, and look good, and yet I'm here. This is all because Stark's egotism passed you by. So you're all picking on me.”

Ross looked at Beck. “No-one is picking on you, Mr Beck. If anything, you've picked on us.” 

____________________________________________________________________________ 

Beck looked up, his blue eyes widening. Peter Parker stood in front of him, casting his eyes down his body. “Hi, Mr Beck.”

Beck was so stunned he merely gasped. “Peter...” then his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were sick.” Peter sat down next to the bed, and to Beck's astonishment, reached for his hand. “I hated to think of you being here, alone.”

Beck looked at the teenager, a mixture of bile and loathing rising in his throat. “Peter-”

“And you being so sick!” Peter shook his head. “You look so thin! What happened to Mysterio, the brave hero? What happened to him?”

“I just...” Beck paused. “Its important to want to look good, when you're trying to save the world, OK?”

“Well, you don't look very good at the moment,” Peter said, solmenly. “When you collapsed on that bridge, I thought you were dead.” He blinked. “I've lost Mr Stark, I can't lose you as well.”

Beck swallowed. “I-”

“Please, put on some weight.” Beck was astonished to see tears in the younger man's eyes. “I'm sure there's a simple explanation for what you did. Director Fury will understand. You need to explain what you did.”

“Yeah,” Beck said,, nodding. “I guess I do.”

“So, I'm going to visit you every week!” Peter sprang up from his chair. “Hopefully you'll be a bit fatter next week!”

Beck raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully, yes.”

Peter walked to the door, and pressed the buzzer. As they let him out, Beck laid back down. He still worshipped him. If Peter still did, maybe the world would. Maybe he really was the greatest hero. Maybe his team would help get him out. 

Maybe he should start eating the near cold bowl of pasta on the bedside. 

He pulled it towards him.  
_______________________________________________________________

Ross and Fuy stood watching from the side, as the two drones buzzed gently above his head. The illusion of Peter had been perfect. Now, as he watched Beck fork pasta into his mouth, he smiled. 

“Yes, Quentin,” Ross muttered. “You are definitely smarter than us.”


End file.
